


Love

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Historical Roleplay, Multiple Orgasms, Smut, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future!fic. The Knope-Wyatts head to the Perkins-Traeger house for the best wedding of 2018.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diaphenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/gifts), [sullenaquarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenaquarian/gifts), [ryeloza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryeloza/gifts), [c00kie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/c00kie/gifts).



> Happy holidays and a joyful new year to the Parks fandom! I love you guys, thanks for the never ending support! I wouldn't get half as much done or have so much fun and read so much and just overall feel SO GREAT without all of you! This is for you! And of course, a huge, amazing thank you to the wonderful c00kie for the beta! She is a shining star who I love.
> 
> So I asked people to send me sexy prompts and I combined them all into one long fic, hopefully successfully. Here are the prompts: 
> 
> saucydiva: I just, look, I need Chris/Ann. This is important to me. Pre baby. Post baby. But awesome, you know?  
> anon: okay but especially your established relationship stuff. I just like reading about how Leslie/Ben are still super into each other even if they fight/take care of 3 kids all day/whatever because they're married and in love and want to do it forever.  
> ryeloza: How about an inopportune time when Ben couldn't keep his hands off of Leslie, so she had to do something to temporarily relieve the tension.  
> stars_inthe_sky: Multiple (lady) orgasms in one round, at least one from dry-humping. Bonus points if you can do two *before* the oral sex!  
> sullen_aquarian: Historical roleplay! If you can work in either Ben’s wig from “London” or Leslie’s outfit from “Article Two,” even better.

Ann always liked the calm of a Christmas evening. It’s cleansing and full, and the end of Christmas sadness hasn’t quite hit yet. It’s perfect.

She even enjoys cleaning. Ann has picked up all the wrapping paper and boxes from unwrapped toys and is now scrubbing a casserole dish that had something called ‘Protein Blasted Cauliflower Gratin’ in it. Chris found a recipe on a blog, Broccoli Brothers, where they featured the table scape and menu of a healthy holiday meal. Ann loves comfort food, the real kind, the kind with butter and cheese and salt, so they compromised. Half of the menu was from the Broccoli Brothers and the rest was from Ann’s grandmother’s old recipe box.

Oliver hardly touched anything from the Brothers and he finished off Ann’s grandmother’s sweet potatoes straight from the serving dish. The thought makes her smile.

“Yeah, man, that’s great.” Chris’ voice travels down the stairs, through the hallway, and into the kitchen. He stepped out of the kitchen when his phone rang, but the conversation must be dwindling.

“I’m sure she was,” Chris says. Ann turns off the water, placing the dish into the dishwasher. She lifts the door of the machine and continues on her mission. “Oh no.” Chris laughs. “This is literally the best thing you could’ve done, Ben. It’s truly a present for all of us.”

Ann turns to her husband. Ben? Ben Wyatt? Leslie’s Ben? Come to think of it… Leslie hasn’t called her today. Last Christmas, Leslie called in the morning, then again before dinner, and then one more time at night, after the kids were asleep. That’s how it’s been since they moved.

Chris smiles at Ann, his blue eyes glistening as usual. He’s always well hydrated, he told her once when she commented on the ever present glisten to his eyes. He also added that he’s always so happy to be around her, it’s like his tear ducts are always near the point of joyful tears. This made Ann’s stomach twist and jump while she simultaneously rolled her eyes. 

Ann wipes her hands on her jeans and pulls her phone out of her pocket. Nothing. Just the text from 10:12 this morning. _Merry Christmas!!!!_ with a Christmas tree emoji.

“No I haven’t, so she doesn’t know,” Chris says. Ann looks up at him, taking a step, then another, toward him. He leans against the counter and reaches out to her with his free hand. “Honestly, I don’t know how.” Chris laughs.

Ann puts her hand in his, still skeptical and curious. He pulls her in and as soon as her chest is flush with his, she breathes him in. Laundry detergent, the faint smell of crisp soap and deodorant. She pushes her face in his neck to feel the scratch of the shadow on his jaw, smell the mild spice of his cologne. She feels the muscles in his arms contract around her, the hard contours of his chest against hers, the strength in each breath he takes. Her man, the father of her child. 

Crazy health and fitness nut who wakes up at 4AM to run before Oliver wakes up. Makes her a smoothie every morning with a cup of coffee. Who plays soccer for hours with Oliver in their backyard, who makes silly voices when he reads “Where the Wild Things Are”, who asks her at least three times a day, “How are you, my love?” whether face to face or in text message or at the end of an email about a pink eye breakout at Oliver’s school. Gives her foot rubs and back rubs and asks for nothing in return. Smiles at everything, provides a simple solution to the worst of her problems, and is so gloriously patient it should be illegal because sometimes it is so, so frustrating. 

Sometimes she gets really far down deep in her head and remembers the day she decided to have a child and her stomach twists in an uncomfortable knot. Because she knows, even if it’s just a fraction of her that acknowledges the truth of it, that her decision to have a baby was rushed and desperate. She had thoughts before, of course, because much like the majority of women, motherhood was expected so you were expected to think about it. So she did. A few times, especially when a relationship was going well, but they hardly did. Ann was lonely. She decided while brushing her teeth, that having a baby would solve her loneliness forever.

She did fine with Diane’s kids, no one died anyway, so why not have one and have a partner in crime forever? A real one that would live in her house and love her and she could love him or her back, forever. 

Which is insane, right? That’s a crazy way to do anything, that’s a decision a girl in her 20’s makes when she feels like the whole world is against her and she has nothing, but if she had this one thing, she could show the world that she can accomplish something. That’s what happened to Ann Perkins. At almost 40. 

But it’s okay, it’s all fine, especially now. Because if she didn’t have that almost insane ah-ha moment in her bathroom, her toothbrush buzzing in her hand, mouth foaming in paste, eyes drowsy with sleep, she would’ve never had this amazing, perfect life. She would’ve never had Chris to keep and they wouldn’t have made Oliver. Who, and this is _not_ her mommy vision talking, is the most perfect little boy that has ever walked on this Earth. 

Okay, fine, it is the mommy vision talking, but he really is wonderful.

Chris kisses the top of her head and Ann snuggles into him deeper. The heater kicks on and Ann is thankful their standing next to the floor vent, the hot air warming her toes.

“Yeah, I’ll let her know.” Chris tugs on Ann’s hair playfully. “Tell the whole gang we say hello.”

“Hi, Ben,” Ann says, tilting her head up toward the receiver.

“He says, ‘hi,’” Chris smiles. “Okay, thanks buddy. Merry Christmas.”

Chris hangs up and slides his phone onto the counter behind him. 

“What was that about?” Ann asks.

Chris pushes off the counter and turns them around. “That” -- he grabs her around her waist and hoists her onto the counter, pushing his body between her legs -- “was the very talented and smart Ben Wyatt.”

Ann tilts her head as Chris’ hands start working under her shirt. It’s wet and covered with various food and cleaning solutions so she has no problem with him sliding it up her torso and pulling it over her head.

“Okay, well what does your boyfriend want?”

“Ann Perkins, are you jealous?” He’s smiling and leaning in to kiss her neck and Ann should be wrapping her legs around him and going for his shirt, too, but her level of curiosity is too high. 

“No, I’m just wondering what you’re supposed to be ‘letting me know.’” Ann leans back and slides her hands back to hold herself up. Chris keeps kissing along her neck, her breastbone, her shoulders. 

“Ah, yes, that.” Chris pulls back and lifts a finger like he just had a great idea. His eyes sweep along her chest, just the quickest of flicks, and then rest back on her face. “Ann Perkins.”

The shift in his voice, from playfully happy to serious and steady is almost alarming. Is something wrong with Leslie? One of the kids? Ben?

“Maybe you should put your shirt back on.” Chris reaches for her shirt and hands it to her. Ann grabs it, the impatience starting to send something like panic through her. She jumps off the counter and clutches the shirt in her hand. 

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“It’s phenomenal.”

Then Chris does the unthinkable. The unthinkable because they’ve talked about this. Many times. Many different ways. Many different years. Many different mornings, evenings, car rides. They’ve even talked to Oliver about this. How it didn’t really matter, how they loved him just as much as all the married parents of the children in his class love them. They’ve talked about this. 

But it’s happening. And it isn’t until Chris bends down on one knee, a ring in his palm, not in a box, not even pinched between his fingers to show her the jewel, just resting on his palm like a beautifully simple offering, that she realizes that they should’ve done this years ago. 

“Ann Perkins,” Chris says. His voice is low, that almost rough voice that lives in the bottom of his throat that is reserved for the bedroom or when he’s touchingly surprised, like that time she and Oliver made him a customized smoothie to-go cup. His eyes glisten, more this time; there’s a tear that will escape out of his left eye and when it falls, she won’t be able to stop her own. “You’re nothing short of amazing, of perfection. You gave me a second chance, a better life, and a wonderful son; the perfect family. Please” -- the tear falls and Ann’s dam breaks -- “will you marry me?”

She can’t breathe, let alone answer him. She nods. Keeps nodding even as he gets up and slides the ring on her finger and kisses her. That’s when she breaths again and he hoists her up in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. They bump and crash through the house until they reach their bedroom. Their mouths and noses bump as Chris tries to maneuver himself to kick the door closed. When it slams they both wince and Ann whispers, “Oliver.”

Chris mumbles an apology and tosses her down on the bed. They both wait and breathe, listen for anything stirring above them. Ann’s heartbeat thuds in her ears. _Please, don’t wake up, don’t wake up._

Nothing.

Chris goes for her jeans and Ann tries to push past his hands to get his shirt off. Ann grabs his shoulders and the small light from her ring finger catches her eye. She didn’t even look at the ring. It’s gorgeous, a rose gold band and a simple, beautiful square diamond. She sighs and Chris pulls on her pants and underwear, making her fall back on the bed with a gasp. 

Ann pushes herself back up and goes for his clothes before he can do anything else. His pants slide down his legs and fall to his feet. Ann tugs on his underwear too and slides off the bed, falling to her knees in front of him. 

“I love you,” Chris says.

Ann doesn’t respond, just licks the tip of his dick and slides him in her mouth with a ferocious enthusiasm that makes Chris gasp and sink his fingers into her hair. They’re usually slow and methodical, bringing each other near the peak only to gently bring each other back down again over and over. Then there’s the times Chris buries his face in Ann and keeps her close to the top for so long, not allowing her to crest until she’s a writhing mess underneath him. She loves that, loves that nothing ever is rushed between them. Not saying “I love you,” not picking out a name for Oliver, not getting back together, not getting married, not the sex. Everything is beautifully slow and she has Chris to thank for it.

She can feel his hands in her hair, trying to slow her down, but she’s all in. She wants to feel him hit the back of her throat, she wants to swallow every drop of him. She’s overflowing with love for this sculpted, optimistic, perfect man and she needs to feel him come undone now.

One hand follows the motions of her mouth, the other cupping his balls and squeezing, tugging. She moans, whimpers when he goes too deep, but takes him that far one more time. He’s cursing and his legs are shaking, his hold on her hair tightening. He warns her that he’s close, so she slows just a little, just long enough to ease him back down. But she goes fast again, her technique sloppy but she’s already obsessed with the way his breath changes, hitches, his voice going high and low between words and her name.

“Ann, please,” he says. He groans, pushing on her head, causing him to go deeper. Ann lets go of his dick, his balls, and holds onto his legs instead, digging her nails into his thighs. “Hold on.”

She flicks her tongue as he pulls from her mouth, catching the last bit of his taste. She tries to regain her breaths but Chris grabs her and pulls her up to him, kissing her. It’s a deep, long kiss that grounds her, clears her brain, lightens her body. 

“I love you,” she says against his mouth, his tongue catching her bottom lip. He smiles and kisses her cheek, her jaw. He gently rests her back on the bed and pulls them both up higher on the mattress. 

“I love you, Ann Perkins.”

He spreads her legs apart with one hand, the other supporting his weight by her head. His hand slides down the inside of her thigh, lightly touching her center before moving to the other thigh. She shivers.

“I love you, Chris Traeger.”

Chris’ fingers slip over her opening, over her clit, causing her back to arch, and then dipping into her, just a little, just enough to make her muscles shake. She sighs, grasping his biceps. Hard, strong, his right one’s muscles moving as his fingers do.

He pulls away and adjusts their bodies so they’re touching. He’s right there, where she wants him.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Chris says. He pushes in and they both gasp, adjust, breathe. He pulls back and leans his forehead on hers. “In front of our friends, our families.” He pushes in again and Ann whimpers, the numb heat of everything -- marrying Chris, having sex with Chris, the beautiful Christmas they just shared, every little thing in her life that is so perfect -- travels from her stomach, outward. “In our house.” He kisses her, his hips moving, Ann’s legs wrapping around his waist, angling her hips higher.

Her head falls back on the mattress. She tries to catch her breath to speak and Chris slows, his hips moving in almost a roll rather than a thrust.

“In our house? You want to get married here?”

Chris pushes in deeper and Ann groans. He softens his movements again.

“Here. New Year’s Eve.”

“What? You’ve already planned this?”

“Of course not,” Chris says, a smile slowly growing on his face. He pushes into her a little harder, his pace unchanging. Ann breathes, loses herself for a moment in the feeling of him filling her. He stops and pushes his forehead onto hers again. “Leslie did.”

Ann starts crying again, tears that just well and fall on their own, just a small ball caught in her throat. Chris pulls out of her and she tries to grasp for him but he’s quick, sitting back on his ass. Ann crawls up to meet him and he wraps her legs around his middle and she sits in his lap, Chris helping to guide him inside her again. He wipes her cheeks.

“Are you happy? Is this okay?” he asks. Ann begins to rock on top of him, holding onto the back of his head so their foreheads stay connected. 

“Yes,” Ann says. Chris wipes another tear away as she whispers that one word again. “ _Yes_.”

\--

“Did he do it?” Leslie asks, dropping the bag of trash in her hands. She runs over to Ben and grabs his arm, shaking it. “Did he? Ben? Did he do it? Ben did she say yes? Did she cry? Did he take a video? Crap, we should have hired a videographer. How will we know what she said exactly? You know--”

“He hasn’t done it yet.” 

Leslie lets go of Ben and her shoulders fall. She kicks a rolled up piece of wrapping paper and walks back over to the bag of garbage to finish cleaning up the mess. The truth is, Leslie misses Ann. She didn’t trust herself not to spill the beans on the surprise wedding, and, in Ben’s words, “It’s a miracle that you haven’t said anything to her yet.” With the Christmas spirit rolling through her today, Leslie figured it’s best if she just doesn't talk to Ann at all today. She bends over to grab the trash bag as Ben slips his arms around her from behind and pulls her close to his chest. 

“He’s going to do it tonight,” he says. “Then you can call Ann in the morning.”

“The morning? Shouldn’t she call me right after?” Leslie asks, spinning in his arms. Ben walks backwards, pulling her until his calves hit the couch. He sits and pulls her into his lap.

“Right after? I’d like to draw your attention to what _we_ did right after I proposed to you.” He lifts his eyebrows and Leslie sighs.

“Fine, okay.” She plays with the collar of his red and green plaid shirt. It’s open, his white t-shirt covered with a few stains. Some are from the frosted cookies the kids devoured, some are a mystery. “But that was different. I was going to be married to your butt.”

Ben kisses her nose. “Well, maybe Ann is excited to be marrying Chris’ butt, too.”

“Impossible -- his butt is nothing compared to yours.” Leslie sits up straight and points at him. “Do you hear me?”

“Okay, okay.” Ben smiles, that lazy tired one that she can’t get enough of, and grabs her hand. “C’mere.”

Ben pulls her to him and they’re both smiling when their lips connect. It’s clumsy and met with giggles until Ben pushes his hand up her back and it jolts her awake. Then her lips slide against his, opening his mouth so she can taste him. 

It’s euphoric -- all Ben with a hint of peppermint and chocolate. Christmas Ben, one of her favorites. Leslie likes to categorize Ben into phases and flavors. There’s Morning Ben, very familiar and soft and incredibly warm. After Work Ben, he tastes like relief and spearmint gum. Weekend Ben tastes like anything from marinera sauce to discarded Cheerios found on the counter, but his jaw is rough with hair and the kisses are endless. 

He grabs her hips and pulls her close. She can feel him already, and as usual, that small indication that she still does this to him -- after almost six years of marriage and three children -- makes her even hungrier for him. 

Her hands sink into his hair, pulling at the short strands that are finally, finally, turning grey. It’s just a few spots but it’s enough. She moves her hips again and he groans, the soft vibration floating into her mouth like a song. His hands leave her waist and she moves on her own, needing the friction. It’s pushing waves of heat and electricity from where they connect, up to her chest and into her head. She’s dizzy. Ben smooths both hands over her breasts and massages them. Leslie moans, her mouth falling from his, her forehead hitting his shoulder.

It’s intoxicating. Hearing his breath, seeing their bodies move, feeling his dick against her, watching his hands work over her breasts. His hands are big, his thumb sweeping over her nipples and palms pushing against her shirt, and she loves how the fabric feels between his touch and her skin. 

Ben groans and something new and intense sparks inside her. It makes her hips move a little faster, like she’s caught something and she can’t let it go. It takes Ben’s rough, low voice and his hand hard on her lower back to realize she’s actually climbing. Her legs are shaking and she’s floating, that numb heat sprouting roots from her center and enveloping every inch of her.

This isn’t new; Ben once made her orgasm at work, in Ann’s office, just by whispering in her ear. It’s the one thing she’s never told Ann, and she really does think it’s for the better. Then there was the time she trailed her fingers over his pants in the back of a cab on their first date after the kids were born. He came, biting his lower lip, forehead on her shoulder like he was sleeping. He was disappointed but he ate her out when they got home and he was smiling as big as ever afterwards.

Ben shifts his hips and she can feel more of him. She’s so thankful for the pajamas all day on Christmas rule in their house, even if Ben likes to “class it up” by wearing a button up shirt. She can feel so much with just their pajama bottoms between them. Leslie whispers his name as he dips his head low and catches her cheek. She turns her head and catches his lips again. His hand leaves her hair and pushes under her shirt for her bare breast and, God, she was so wrong, feeling his fingers bare against her nipple, running along the skin and squeezing with the perfect amount of pressure is so much better than him teasing her over her shirt.

Leslie moans, her breathing quickening against Ben’s mouth. His hand is steady on her lower back, pushing her down so she grinds into his lap harder, his groans growing louder with anticipation. She likes this part of him, that part that gets so excited for every shift in her body, the ecstasy that builds in him as she climbs. It only fuels her, her hips moving faster, her brain concentrating on that one feeling, that one that grows and grows until she can’t let go of it.

She grips his shoulder, digs her nails into the fabric of his shirt until he hisses, then she digs deeper. He mumbles, “Fuck,” right before his mouth latches onto her neck, his tongue circling and lips sucking until every muscle in her body tightens.

“Ben,” she warns, because warnings are necessary now. There are children in the house, one with a sleep pattern much like Leslie’s and she doesn’t need him to come downstairs right now.

Ben’s mouth leaves her neck and he pushes his lips onto hers as she comes.

Her hips slow as the waves keep lapping along her body. Leslie’s muscles tighten, then shake loose as she holds onto him, her hips slowly, slowly coming to a stop. Ben finally pulls away from her lips and smiles at her, pushing her hair from her face.

He moves his hips and she gasps. Ben smiles, something dark in his eyes. 

“I have one more present for you,” Ben says, sliding his hand from her breast, splaying his fingers over her stomach.

“Oh?” 

Ben nods, tracing the waistband of her pajama pants. “It’s upstairs and--”

Leslie jumps off of Ben and runs to the stairs. She hears him laugh behind her, telling her to be quiet but she can’t help it, shaky, post orgasm legs be damned. She loves presents. And surprise presents? Possible sexy surprise presents? Come on.

Sure enough, in the middle of their bed, is a wrapped box. It’s beautifully wrapped, too, Ben has gotten really good at wrapping since they’ve been playing Santa together. They kind of go overboard at Christmas, but to be fair they hardly buy the kids anything throughout the year. Even their birthdays are modest. 

The box is wrapped in plain red paper with a beautiful green and gold ribbon that’s tied dead in the center with a perfect bow. The tag is shaped like a Christmas tree and on it, in green ink, is, “To my beautiful wife,” written in Ben’s messy, yet sexy, scrawl.

Leslie turns around and smiles at him. He is leaning against their dresser, grinning in that confident way that almost takes her breath away. She crawls onto the bed and pulls at the ribbon. Ben takes a step toward the bed, his hands in his pockets. She continues to unwrap it, a white box beneath the paper. She tears through the tissue paper inside and gasps.

“Oh my God.”

“Now, I had Garth help me find this--”

“Oh my God.”

“And it’s very, very accurate. It took me months to track all of it down.”

Leslie lifts up the dress and gasps. “Oh my God.” She puts the dress aside and holds up the apron, then digs out the uniform below and gasps. “It’s… I… how…”

“Do you like it--”

“Put it on!” she says, throwing the uniform at him. Ben shushes her as he tries to catch it. Just the uniform in his arms is doing things to her. They’ve role played this before, but when they were done she really wished they had the right clothes for it and now… now it is a reality.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben says and she growls.

She clutches the heavy fabric of her new dress as Ben takes off his clothes. Age has done wonders to him. He’s filled out just a little, just enough to give him the smallest stomach that she loves running her fingers over and kissing. But he’s still little, taught, and pale. Ben steps into his pants and buttons them. They are just a little big but she doesn’t care, they are sexier hanging onto his hips like that. When he grabs for the belt she tells him not to bother and he smiles so wicked she swears her heart stops.

He buttons the shirt over his t-shirt and tucks it in and she notices the way the pants tent in the front. She whimpers, biting her lower hip. This is obscene torture, but she wants him fully dressed before anything else happens.

He turns around to watch himself do his tie in the mirror and Leslie is practically salivating at the sight of his ass in the pants. He straightens the knot and flattens his collar, turning back to her. Their eyes lock and Leslie nods, a small one of approval and urgency. 

There’s a chevron on his sleeve, and it matches the one on his coat. He buttons that, too. She rubs her legs together, holding tighter to the dress. He walks to the bed and Leslie gets on her knees and reaches for him before he digs through the tissue in the box for his hat.

Ben slides it on his head, leaving it askew, and Leslie is almost sure she’s dreaming.

He looks down at himself and pulls down on the coat, rolling his shoulders.

“I didn’t find boots but I have my Doc Mar--”

“It’s perfect,” Leslie says. He smiles up at her. 

Leslie pushes the box aside and it tumbles from the bed. She crawls to the end of the mattress, awkwardly clutching the nurse’s uniform in her hand. She reaches for him and he puts up a hand. 

“I believe it’s your turn, ma’am.”

Right. 

Leslie’s stomach is twisting as she undresses. She pushes her pants down first, then tosses her shirt over her head. When she reaches for her dress, Ben grabs her and pushes her onto the mattress. 

She gasps, groping for his uniform, anywhere to hold onto, as he quickly trails his hand down her torso. His touch is rough but it leaves fire running down her spine. He spreads her legs and slips his fingers over her clit, pushes down further to her opening and circles his touch there. He groans.

Leslie grabs the back of his neck and pulls him to her. The uniform smells old, a little dusty, but it only fuels the buzz along her skin. She imagines they’re somewhere -- maybe France? Could she pull off a French accent? -- and Ben, Private Wyatt, only has tonight to let go, to forget about Hitler’s Germany and the war, and he’s chosen her to help him. She pushes his lips open and kisses him hard and sloppy. Ben’s fingers push into her and her back arches, every muscle trying desperately to cling to him, to get closer to him. 

She’s so pent up. The aftershock of their time on the couch, the painfully slow tease of watching him get in his uniform, and now this: strength and breaths and the impossibly sexy way his cap sits on his head. 

He curls his fingers and pushes in deeper. Leslie pushes her hips up to meet each thrust, craving him deeper and faster. She keeps rocking against his hand until something switches, and it’s all happening so fast. His thumb carefully moves to her clit and Leslie’s arms fling onto the mattress, hitting it, and she bites her lip, scared she will scream out. 

“Ben, I mean Private Wyatt.” She stutters, the want and climb scratching the back of her throat. “I’m--shit, Private, I--”

“Do it, please, Miss Knope. For me.” 

It’s only a few more breaths and the impossibly deep and fast way his fingers move until she’s there. Ben quickly clasps his free hand over her mouth and she screams, her fingers clawing at the arm of his coat.

Ben slides his hand from beneath her panties and runs his fingers over them, over her center and pushes his fingers against her. She’s still pulsing, whimpering, her muscles twitching. He hums, taking extra care to keep rubbing and feeling the wet material. He kisses her neck and over her collarbone and she watches the top of his head, sidecap askew over his dark, barely dusted with gray hair, roam down her body. He slowly kneels onto the floor, taking her underwear off, and places her legs on top of his shoulders. 

Leslie takes a deep breath and lets her head fall back on the bed. She can feel him, close, but not yet touching her, and she’s in sensory overload; she is going to short circuit.

“Private,” Leslie says. Ben licks her with the faintest of touches. She shivers. Breathes. “Shouldn’t I be dressed for this fantasy?”

Ben stops and pulls back, standing. She groans. “You’re right. Here.” Ben reaches down where the box was pushed and throws her her cap. 

Leslie struggles to sit up and she fluffs her hair before placing the cap on her head. She tries to straighten it and secure it on her head but it won’t stay. She pulls it forward and sits up straight. 

She sees Ben’s fingers clench together in a fist and then unroll, each muscle in his hand carefully working. Leslie licks her lips. Ben takes a breath.

“How long before your shift starts, Miss Knope?” His words are carefully controlled.

“I should be there at 0700.” 

Ben looks at the clock and Leslie wants to swallow him whole. 

“Plenty of time,” he says. “Now lie back, please. It’s time someone took care of you.” Leslie whimpers as Ben takes off his cap. “Hold this, will ya?” He hands her the hat and she clutches it to her chest. Ben pushes her shoulder and she falls onto the mattress.

Her legs are placed on his shoulders again and his mouth is on her. Leslie closes her eyes. She lets go, lets her muscles spasm, grabs a pillow to go over her face so she can cry and whimper, groan and curse. She rolls her hips so she rides his face, she tightens around his fingers when he pushes into her, and holds onto Ben’s sidecap until her muscles hurt.

He’s there for so long, keeping true to his promise, he takes care of her. He laps at her, fucks her with his tongue and his fingers. Circles her clit, sucks every inch of her, bites her outer lips in soft, lovely nips. He massages her thighs, keeps her steady in a numb space where she feels like she’s actually weightless. 

Ben is just feeling her, exploring her even though she must be known territory by now. Maybe it’s the orgasms, or how she’s wrapped up in this fantasy, but her patience lasts awhile. She lets him do this slowly and it’s amazing.

He kisses along the inside of her thighs, two kisses on each leg. His face is drenched, lips hot and wet. When he connects with her pussy again, there’s a charge that wasn’t there before. His tongue pushes inside her and his hand lay flat on her lower stomach, his thumb pushing on her clit, circling fast. Her body squirms, her heart races, and she’s screaming into the pillow. 

It’s all sneaking up on her, every feeling, every jolt, every push and wave of heat. She wraps her legs around his head and pushes against his face, making him move faster. He holds her down with his free hand and groans into her, says he loves her against her. Leslie is screaming, yelling curse words and his name into the pillow. She throws the hat at him and she can feel his laugh deep in her stomach.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, not until she’s shaking and coming undone for so long that there’s no way the earth didn’t shatter beneath them.

Leslie can’t control her breathing, she tries to stop gasping and whimpering, but it’s impossible. Ben wipes his mouth on her thighs, kisses up her torso and removes the pillow so he can kiss her. Her taste is on his tongue and lips and it only makes her open her mouth wider. He clumsily scoots her up onto the bed until they’re both on the mattress. Leslie reaches between them and starts undoing his pants, pushing past the scratchy fabric of his jacket. He unbuttons the jacket, disconnecting their lips long enough for him to shake it off his shoulders. 

His pants go next, falling to his knees. Leslie tugs at his underwear and they slide halfway down his thighs, and just as Ben’s dick is free, he pushes her down and kisses the life out of her. 

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips.

“That’s awfully forward, Private.” Leslie smiles, Ben’s lips catching her teeth.

“There’s a war going on, Miss Knope. No time for second chances.”

Leslie growls, flipping him over and impaling herself on his cock. They both gasp. Leslie takes a second to adjust, align their bodies, gain balance. She’s tired, a little sore, and numb, but the way he looks -- his shirt half-way unbuttoned and his tie loose -- makes her move. Slow at first, but it isn’t long before she’s riding him.

She’s quick to tap out, though. She falls forward and Ben thrusts up into her and she moans into his neck. Ben holds onto her hair, his other hand holding her hip. He’s tiring, too, she can feel it in the erratic move of his hips and the soft moans, but he fucks her anyway. His hand slips from her hip and slides between their bodies until his index finger finds her clit. She clutches a pillow and groans, “Fuck,” into his shoulder.

Ben turns his mouth to her ear and whispers, “You’ve got another in you.”

Leslie whimpers, because she’s not sure if she does, really, but Ben’s fingers work over her clit and he keeps thrusting into her. Ben slows just enough for his hands to move to her shoulders and he pushes her up. Leslie feels limp and numb but she somehow sits up and when Ben moves below her, he’s hitting her somewhere new. He holds her hips and helps her move, guides her rhythm until she starts moving on her own again. Ben reaches for her clit and he pushes up with each roll of her hips.

“Say you love me, Angel,” he says. Leslie whimpers. “I want to hear you say it, just in case.” 

“Fuck.” No one is as dedicated to roleplaying as Ben. No one gets and stays into character as much as he does. She even snaps out of it, sometimes laughs or forgets who she’s supposed to be. Not Ben; he’s all in. “I love you.”

He groans, his thumb moving faster. He’s deep and he fills her up so perfectly and she loves him, she loves him so fucking much.

“I love you, too,” he whispers. She feels it start in her legs, it grows up and up until she’s dizzy with it. “You’re so beautiful. I forgot what beautiful things looked like.” Holy hell. Did he study historical romance novels for this? “I could marry you right now.” She’s there, she’s there, she’s _gone_.

Her body trembles and she yells out, her curses and his name almost echoing off the walls. He pulls her down to his mouth and he swallows every sound, thrusting up into her until his own orgasm shakes him from the inside out. 

Ben strokes her back as they both regain their breathing. Leslie’s eyes are fighting to stay open and she can hear the even, deep breaths begin below her. She gently rolls off of him, Ben’s arms clutching her. Leslie holds onto his tie and wraps a leg around his. They lay like this for awhile and Leslie relishes in how easy sleep is, how it is quickly swallowing her without effort.

The static from the baby monitor crackles and Leslie hears a small cry. Then a little voice calling out for her.

Ben groans, running a nail over Leslie’s arm.

“Another soldier is wounded,” Ben grumbles.

“A nurse’s job never ends.” 

She kisses Ben’s shoulder and slowly rolls out of bed onto wobbly legs. She trips as she puts on her pajama pants, and tries to blink away the sleepiness as she tugs on her t-shirt. She shuffles down the hall and opens the door to the boys’ room.

“Joshy?” Leslie whispers.

“Mommy.” 

That little voice in the middle of the night has called to her since the day they were born. Joshua. He can’t sleep for more than few hours at a time and each time he wakes up, he needs to see her. And who is she to deny him? Her perfect little boy with thick framed glasses.

She walks carefully to his bed and kisses him on the forehead. She takes off his glasses (he puts them on automatically every time he wakes) and places them on his nightstand. She tucks him in and rubs his back, kneeling on the floor. Behind her in an identical bed, her other boy sleeps. Robby could sleep through anything.

It never takes long for Joshua to fall asleep, and when he’s breathing deep, she tucks Robby back in and walks to her room.

Ben is fast asleep, mouth open and snoring, pants around his ankles and shirt still on. She grins, shutting the door behind her. She kisses him awake and helps him get undressed, his hands finding her waist, her hips, her breasts. His eyes are half open when he gets up to go to the bathroom. She climbs into bed and Ben walks back out, putting on a pair of sweatpants before getting into bed with her. 

They quickly snap back together, a perfect little puzzle of limbs and chins and hips. She kisses his shoulder and he tightens his hold.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“And I like you,” she replies.

\--

“Ow!”

“Sorry, little one,” Ben says, loosening his grip on his daughter’s hair. He loses a few strands so he just lets go and tries again. “Hold still okay? Daddy isn’t as good at this as mommy.”

In fact he’s terrible, practically impossible. Leslie is busy however, helping Ann get ready, and now he’s singlehandedly responsible for getting all four kids ready. The three boys, Robby, Joshua, and Oliver are dressed, poking around on Ben’s iPad in their button up shirts and clip on ties, but Dany came with all kinds of extras. Her shoes were too small so Ben traded them out for her old beat up sneakers, and while her dress was easy to put on, her hair was impossible. 

Ben slides the blue clip up the side of her head, taking her golden hair with it in a small swoop and pushes the clip against her head, snapping it closed. She winces and pulls from him but he did it. The clip is in her hair, her hair is out of her eyes, and he did it.

“Hold on,” Ben says, putting a hand out to stop Dany from running to the boys, “a picture for the scrapbook.”

Dany immediately turns to him, eyes locked on the camera and her smile huge. One front tooth is missing and it’s perfect. The kids are pros at this, so many pictures have been taken of them since they were born that posing and smiling has become second nature to them. He snaps a few pictures and he pats her bottom before she runs over to the coveted iPad and company. Oliver makes room for her and she starts strategizing their next move in Angry Birds.

Ben sighs and takes a sip of his beer. Andy and April are making out in a corner of the room, which is the Traeger-Perkins office. There’s nothing too vulgar going on so he doesn’t say anything. Also, between the ride here, the enforced bedtime before the wedding day, and everything else, Ben is starting to feel like the designated wet blanket. So he lets it go. 

When his phone buzzes with Leslie’s _READY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ , things start moving fast. April and Andy break apart and start pulling kids into the hallway and Ben somehow remembers to check himself in the mirror one last time.

He walks into the hallway and from the top of the stairs, over the little heads of the kids, past April and Andy’s shoulders, there’s the small gathering of family and friends. The living room has been cleared, rented white chairs lined up in three rows, split in half to allow for everyone’s entrance. Music starts to play from the small stereo next to the TV and people hurry to sit.

April hands Dany a basket of daisies, scrounged from a nearby grocery store that Leslie stayed up late last night cutting off the stems. When he kissed her she smelled like flowers and the skin of her fingers were rough on the back of his neck. 

Dany looks up at April, who whispers something to her. Instructions on how to toss the daisies as she walks or something about how Chris’ old uncle actually is a robot overlord, Ben’s unsure. Dany stands tall and squares her shoulders before taking the first step down the stairs, tossing a daisy as she goes with precision. 

Oliver goes next, a small wooden box held tightly in his hands. Andy takes Joshua and puts him on his back. Ben was worried about this, Joshua ran off stage during his preschool’s Christmas pageant, but it’s incredible the things he’ll do if Andy is around. Well, around to carry him everywhere. Joshua pushes his glasses up his nose and then grips Andy’s neck, probably too hard, before Andy grabs April’s hand and they descend the stairs right behind Robby.

The ooohs and awws start as Dany first moves into the aisle and Ben looks back for his walking partner just as Leslie and Ann step out of Oliver’s bedroom. 

His throat closes, time stops, and he’s unsure if anyone else is living on this planet anymore. Which is a terrible thing to think when you’re a father, but these moments? They happen and he devours them. They’re short lived bits of frozen time where there’s nothing in the entire universe but him -- or a fraction of him, just feelings and emotions and the absolute notion that he is alive -- and her. Leslie. She’s been crying, her cheeks are puffy and her eyes are red but she’s fresh faced, clean and smiling. Her hair is swept back, loose and effortless. Her smile grows as she steps up to him and she puts one hand over her heart like she can’t believe he’s real either.

Leslie’s dress only goes to her knees and when she turns to talk to Ann, the blue material follows her fluidly. There’s a small clip next to her bun that looks like Dany’s and Ben’s heart swells. Leslie hugs Ann and gives her friend one last look over, pushing a piece of brown hair behind her ear. Leslie goes to Ben, sliding her arm into his and time catches back up again.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful?” Leslie asks.

Leslie’s looking up at him. She’s at her heeled shoes height that he loves because of her lips proximity to his, but he prefers her height with bare feet, where she can comfortably slip under his chin and they interlock like puzzle pieces. Her lips are a soft pink and her nose scrunches a little as her smile keeps taking over her face.

“Yes,” he says.

“Thank you for everything, Ben.” Ann puts a hand on his shoulder and he blinks, looking at her. 

“Oh, yeah, Ann, of course.” Ben shakes his head, clearing the fog. “You look great.”

Her eyes flick to the ceiling in a quick eyeroll and Ben feels like he missed something, but Leslie is pulling on his arm and it’s their turn to walk down the stairs. 

Everything feels warm and intimate downstairs. Even if he doesn’t really know anyone in the room, everything is private and small. Even the kids are sitting in chairs off to the side with patience and calm that he would never imagine like they can feel it, too. 

Chris smiles at Ben and Ben nods back. He had a speech that he wanted to give Chris before the ceremony. Just a small something for encouragement and assurance that he probably didn’t need anyway.

“I am going to marry her,” Chris had said around a year ago.

Ben pressed the phone to his ear, trying to pick up the legos from the floor. It’s his fault they’re there, he knocked over a tower Dany and Robby built that morning. 

“I thought you guys didn’t need to be married,” Ben replied, echoing words he heard every anniversary.

“Oh and I completely still think that, Ben Wyatt,” Chris said. It sounded like he might be doing sit ups. No surprise there. “But sometimes I think she deserves a day to be the bride, and I deserve the memory of seeing her as mine.”

It was quiet for awhile after that. Oliver woke up from a nightmare and the moment was over but Ben really wishes he had the opportunity to tell Chris how wonderful this moment would be. How he would be absolutely right in wanting this for both him and Ann. How you don’t necessarily need a day to feel everything that will happen during your wedding, but if you can do it, why not? But the day was too hectic and he was put on kid duty and Chris was playing host and it never happened.

So he just nods at Chris again, hoping it’s enough. Ben kisses Leslie before she goes to stand with April and Ann and Ben steps between Chris and Andy. The music shifts and everyone stands and Ben hears Chris gasp as Ann takes her last step from the stairs.

The officiant, Chris’ yoga instructor, is soft spoken and the room is silent, watching and charged. Ben can hear Leslie’s sniffles, keeps watching her for signs of a Leslie Knope breakdown, but she keeps it together. During the exchanging of the rings she lets out a small cry before she can swallow it and Joshua runs over to her. Everyone smiles or laughs and there’s a nice shift in the room. The officiant even talks louder and everyone is smiling or giggling through the vows and when they kiss, everyone is up and cheering.

Chris and Ann disappear after the ceremony and everyone helps to clear the room for the reception. Chairs move in circles and tables are plopped down, music changes and the caterer announces that their are drinks being served in the kitchen. Ben wants to kiss his wife, the whole ceremony and the small, private gathering of loved ones stirring memories up inside his chest, but she’s busy. She’s in her Work Mode. Helping put together center pieces while asking people if they need anything. Solving a fight between Robby and Dany over some fruit kabobs that are out on a table for the kids while somehow asking the caterers how the food is coming.

So the desire to be with her only increases. Maybe he’s just a bratty young boy who wants attention and he’s not getting it, or maybe there’s something in the way her voice sounds when she asks for someone to set out silverware. She holds herself high and with importance and people listen to her, people go to her automatically about anything. She ruffles the hair of their children and smiles as Oliver tries on Joshua’s glasses. Leslie walks into the kitchen and Ben tries to follow her but Chris’ robot overlord uncle stops him to thank him for the great party. He somehow gets stuck talking about finances and the crazy world of politics (all Ben learns is Lord Robot knows nothing about politics), but he keeps looking for her. 

The next time he sees her, Leslie is announcing the bride and groom. Everyone claps and there’s somewhat of a receiving line but it’s informal and everyone is just trying to get one word in. Then Ben and Leslie work to get the kids to sit and eat some food, they work together to tackle the buffet table, balancing five plates on their arms. The kids eat, and Ben picks at his plate while Leslie’s food turns cold. 

He is concerned she hasn’t eaten but she keeps moving through the reception like a well oiled machine, getting stuff done. After dinner, tables are removed, leaving only one and a few chairs for people who don’t want to partake in dancing, and the music turns up. There is no announcement, just the start of something slow, and Chris leads Ann onto the makeshift dance floor.

Ben slips April forty dollars and tells her to watch the kids so Leslie can actually enjoy the wedding. April takes the money without an acknowledgement, but she quickly goes over to the kids, who are sitting with the iPad again. Andy joins her with a plate full of food. The kids weren’t a huge part of the problem, so Ben is in charge of the hard part.

Leslie is talking with a caterer when he walks up to her. The young man walks away with a nod and Leslie turns to the cake, placing daisies around the base and tilting her head at the display. She squints and then moves the cake a little bit, adjusting the topper.

“Hey,” Ben says, wrapping his arms around her middle, pressing his chest to her back. She feels warm and electric.

“Hi,” she says. She moves something again.

“Dance with me,” Ben says, grabbing her hand from the cake and turning her.

She smiles at him, surprised. “Dancing?”

“Anything to get you to stop working for one second.” Ben pulls her, walking backward into the small group of dancing people.

“I am not working, I am celebrating.”

He pulls her into him and kisses her, laughing against her lips. She deflates right there, against him, in the middle of the Perkins-Traeger living room. He feels her muscles loosen, hears the breath escape her lungs, and it makes him open her mouth just a little, just so he can taste her. He gets it, just a dash of vanilla frosting and champagne, before she pushes away.

“Ben,” she whispers. He puts a hand on the small of her back and pushes her closer to him. Her eyes widen. “What’s happening?”

He knows she can feel him, hard against her stomach, right between her hips. He didn’t know when that happened, honestly, but it doesn’t surprise him. This morning she made breakfast for everyone and undressed in front of him before she went in the shower, explaining everything that needed to be done today. He’s been watching her tackle everything through this wedding and reception, he stayed up late with her the night before doing last minute decoration hot gluing and cutting. She fell asleep on top of her wedding planning binder and he’s only had small touches between passed plates and moving chairs. 

Then there’s everything this wedding is stirring up inside him. Chris and Ann dated while he was falling in love with her, Ann was there telling him that Leslie liked him, they were both at their wedding and the cheerleaders of their special day. He feels almost dizzy, his head swimming with the clash of the past and present and everything in betwee. Kids, birthdays, houses, job transitions. There should be a word to describe love through the years, the different growth that happens but also feels like the first kiss even though it’s the millionth first kiss they’ve shared. 

“This wedding is amazing,” Ben says.

Leslie smiles and smooths her hips over him, just a small shift and Ben gasps. Her eyes darken and the soft, beautiful way her hair frames her face somehow starts to look sinister, her make up darker, the smile on her face something wild.

“All thanks to you,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

Her hand comes between them, and her palm goes over his shaft and then disappears again. She’s gotten really good at sneaking these touches since they’ve had kids. Or had to work together. Or always.

He grips her shoulders.

“This is really inappropriate, Ben, we’re at a wedding.”

He smiles, leaning his forehead on hers. It’s a hilarious joke considering they’ve done something inappropriate at every wedding they’ve been to since they’ve been together.

She moves her hand over him again, sliding her hand to his shoulder afterwards. The trail of her touch leaves electricity charged on his skin. He closes his eyes and moves closer to her, tries to feel the friction without her touch. 

Someone turns off the music and there’s a clinking of glasses. Everyone turns to the cake and there’s Chris and Ann, smiling and full of light. 

“The cake!” Leslie says, turning to walk toward them.

Ben grabs Leslie’s arm and pulls her back to him. “Please,” he says.

“But the cake,” Leslie says, but her hand is moving to his belt buckle and -- God -- this is the perfect time, this is the most perfect time to get away.

“You hired a photographer,” Ben says, pulling them both toward the small hallway behind the stairs. “You’ll see it.”

There’s no physical resistance, she’s following him, her fingers are already undoing his belt, but she keeps trying to see the ceremony even though they’re now behind a wall. The button of his pants is next, then the zipper, and Leslie is pushing him into the small bathroom with a growl.

“Yes,” Ben whispers. “Yes. I love you.”

There’s a rose scented candle flickering in the bathroom so neither of them bother with the light. Ben leans back against the door and tries to catch his breath. She moves fast, opening his pants, pushing them down, and releasing him from his boxers quickly. Leslie takes him in her hand, small and warm, and Ben groans, pushing his fingers into her hair.

Her hand moves over him, up and down in tight, beautiful strokes. He knows she’s working fast, that she’s not going to warm him up, or take her time. Ben feels so pent up, it doesn’t matter. He already feels like they’ve been kissing for hours on their couch, or he’s been massaging her back through an entire episode of the Daily Show. He keeps whispering her name, curses when she licks her palm before reaching for him again, moving faster.

Ben grabs onto the back of her neck and pulls her forward, their mouths clashing. He’s kissing her sloppy and hard but the way she’s touching him makes his legs shake and holding her neck and keeping their mouths connected is the only way he can stay upright. Her other hand slinks down and squeezes, her wrists turn, her thumb rubs over his head, pushes on the underside of his shaft until his brain starts to catch fire.

He wrenches his lips away, growling her name. Leslie travels down to his neck. She nips and sucks on the skin, uses one hand to pull his collar away to expose more flesh for her to lick as her other hand keeps working below. Ben rakes his hand from her neck to her breast, squeezing. It’s probably too rough and reminiscent of how he treated breasts in high school, but if it bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She’s moaning and whispering his name, moving her hand faster, varying the the pressure of her fingers and twist of her wrist. 

“Leslie,” he growls. She moves faster, whimpers, and there’s a strong current pushing through his veins. “Leslie.” Faster. He grabs her shoulder, digging his fingers into the flesh and bone. “Leslie.”

She drops, so fast he almost falls forward, but he catches himself on the sink. He grips the porcelain and holds on. Holds on long enough to feel her hot, perfect mouth around him; holds on long enough to feel the weight of her tongue beneath his shaft and twirl around his tip; holds on long enough to hit the back of her throat once, twice. Leslie sucks, moves faster, and the heat sinks into every pore, through his veins, until he’s unloading into her mouth.

He tries to catch his breath. Leslie licks over his shaft, flicks the tip with her tongue, and gives the head a small, sweet kiss before she gets up. Leslie nudges his shoulder and smiles at him. Ben is still breathing hard and trying to right the tilt of the earth but he smiles back. She hits his hip with her hand and he leans into the wall, giving her room to wash her hands and wipe her face at the sink. 

Ben watches the light shift over her from the dancing flame of the candle. It catches the beautiful curve of her grinning lips and the pale tint of her skin, the cute slope of her nose and crystal blue of her eyes. She wipes her hands on a towel and carefully dries her chin, and cheeks, peeking at him from above the cloth. He reaches over and pulls down the towel, kissing her quick.

“My turn,” Ben says. His hand catches the skirt of her dress before she pushes his hand away.

“Oh no, we’re not going to miss more of the reception.”

“Leslie--”

She puts a finger over his lips and lowers her chin, giving him her serious face.

“I will not miss more of Ann’s big day. Put your pants on and lets go.”

Leslie reaches for the door handle and Ben hurries to get his pants, tucking in his shirt and hurriedly buttoning and zipping. She opens the door but quickly closes it. She turns to Ben and grabs his tie, pulling him close.

“But to be clear, we’re not done here.”

“I love you so much,” Ben says, leaning down to kiss her.

“What are you doing? We gotta go.”

“Sorry.”

Ben follows her through the hall and everyone is eating cake when they walk in. No one looks in their direction, everyone involved in their own conversations and eating the cake Leslie spent yesterday baking with Dany. The kids are covered in frosting, all of them eating off a plate that April filled with a gigantic piece of cake, maybe an entire tier of it. 

Leslie tugs on Ben’s arm.

“Cake, Ben!”

He follows her, taking a plate when she hands it to him. He’s not sure if it’s the way she smiles at him when he takes a bite, eager and hopeful, that makes the frosting so light and the cake incredibly rich and moist, but it doesn’t matter.

“Delicious,” he says.

She smiles and kisses his cheek before going over to Ann.

The night dwindles down after that. The kids run around like mad people but soon they’re crying and whining and struggling to stay awake. Leslie and Ben take them to Oliver’s room after Chris and Ann say goodnight to their son. Leslie reads a book but they’re all asleep by the end of it. People are encouraged to stay for the countdown but most of the guests are older, so it dwindles down to Chris’ stepbrother Sam, his wife Linda, and April and Andy.

On the floor, Andy is eating more cake, April’s head in his lap. Her shoes are gone and she keeps closing her eyes any time Chris starts talking about crossfit scheduling and work ethic. Ann and Leslie are talking on the couch and Linda is listening intently to Chris’ crossfit stories while Sam leans on her shoulder. Ben feels like an island, that introspective part of him that seems to crawl around in his brain during the holidays taking hold.

In college these moments were heavy, almost choking him with regrets and reflections. That’s no surprise since Ice Town was right behind him. Now when he gets in this head space, at the same time of year, it’s different. So vastly different.

It’s memories of spreadsheets and corn mazes; of running campaigns and changing careers over and over with support from a short beam of golden sunshine. There’s the crinkling sound of a wedding dress on their bed, running out of the rain in Hawaii, holding Leslie’s shaking form as she cried after the recall. 

Running to JJ’s in the middle of the night for sausage and waffles, yelling at nurses to “FUCKING DO SOMETHING,” as his wife told him how much it hurt, and holding three tiny babies all at one time. Nanny interviews, first week of preschool drop offs, tiny tot dance classes and t-ball sign ups. Trips to the national parks and pouring over bank statements thinking about how to afford a trip to Disney World. Cuddling on the couch, tickling three pairs of feet, and falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, only to wake up to small voices and Leslie’s kisses.

And this: his family, reunited with his friends, just like they do each year, but this time feels richer. More _full_.

Leslie pulls on Ben’s hand and turns him around. She’s counting down and it takes Ben a second to realize, somehow, it’s almost midnight and the New Year has snuck up on him. He watches her, her eyes soft with fatigue but her smile strong with excitement. The others are counting down too, their own voices an echo of hers. Ben never joins in, just lets Leslie count it down for the both of them until she gets to one.

Then he kisses her and his heart beats stronger, steadier, and he knows what makes this time in Ann Arbor fuller; what’s overflowing the room, seeping through windows, and drowning each and every one of them.

Love.


End file.
